


A Whisper Through A Megaphone

by Gnilnim27



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soul Marks, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Soulmates, minor Athelstan/Ragnar Lothbrok - Freeform, soul marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:24:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7973434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnilnim27/pseuds/Gnilnim27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Modern AU with a dash of soul marks thrown in,</p><p>After Flint lost Thomas, he all but dismissed the second name written over his heart. He couldn't go through all that pain again. But then Silver had to show up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Growing up, James McGraw was one of those youths that believed in soul marks. Not everyone found their soul mark but both his parents had them and it was how they had found each other. His mother said that his father was far more excited then her about their soul marks, while his father always had maintained that it was the other way around. 

On his 16th birthday, James waited eagerly as he watched the minutes ticked by. At midnight he felt an itch on his chest, right above his heart. Quickly he pulled down the collar of his faded football shirt in front of his mirror. 

A careful neat ‘T’ appeared in cursive on his skin, and much to his confusion, a fancier loopier letter ‘J’ etched itself into his skin right under the ‘T’.

James could only watch mesmerized as two very separate names formed across his pale freckled skin. When they finished it read, ‘Tom Hamilton’ and underneath it read ‘John Silver’.

Young James stared at his chest for a good whole minute. He had heard of multiple soul marks before. Only last year a women in China reportedly had 5 soul marks appear on her skin on her 16th birthday. 

It was rare but not unheard of. Never one to be easily thrown, James straightened his shirt, turned off the light and decided to call it a night. No doubt his parents would be far more excited about his double soul marks than he. He’d be happy if he met just one of the people whose names he had on his skin. 

When he was 22, he met Thomas Hamilton while at university. They were both taking the same literature class. They were drawn to each immediately, blue eyes flitting to his from across the room, knowing each other before they even spoke.

When the class was over, it was Thomas who approached James first. 

“Hi, I’m Thomas Hamilton,” he said, sounding breathless and just a touch nervous. 

James gaped like a fish out of water, faced with the name on his skin he stuttered, “I’m-I.”

“You are James McGraw,” the other man finished for him, the excitement clear in his voice, “I read it on the register,” he added sheepishly. James blushed in response.

Thomas had been dating Miranda Barlow at the moment of their meeting. She was the most gracious woman James had ever had the good luck of meeting. She bowed out with an elegance that James certainly could not have managed had their positions been reversed.

 

Thomas and James complemented each other both intellectually and physically. They married months later in an almost idyllic setting of a few close friends and relatives despite the protest from Thomas’s father. 

They lived together, studied together and later worked together in an typical 9 to 5 job in engineering. But the happiness was not to last.

******

James lost Thomas on a cold October morning. He stood cold and wet from having dashed through the rain to the hospital, so numb he could barely feel Miranda tight grip on his arm as the doctor’s words washed over them.

As the doctor spoke a movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. The older Hamilton, hobbling out of a room on crutches and a bandage on one eye, alive while his Thomas was dead and James just lost it.

It was all downhill after that. James was very nearly sentenced to prison for assault but was instead given mandatory grief consultation and anger management. As a result, he lost his job and left the apartment he used to share with his late husband because the memories were too much to bear. 

Between the anger management and the grief counseling, it was the anger management group meetings that he hated the most. The fact that he was forced to attend it via court order seem to say to James that his anger in face of the loss of his soul mark was not acceptable. But his grief counselor seemed to think that it was a good thing that he was involved in some semblance of socialisation, forced or not. 

James disagreed with his counselor. It was there at the meeting where he met a man who called Charles Vane. They took immediate dislike to one another. Vane had a rather short fuse and James now had an even shorter one, Vane took to calling James “Flint” on account of his temper and hard demeanour.

Vane always arrived with a red headed woman. They were an enigmatic pair, never quite following the class but faked just enough to get by. 

Before, James would have found people like these to be unsavory company, but now he felt more at home with them then he did with ‘normal’ folk. Who was he to say what was normal anymore when he hardly recognized himself in the mirror these days?

In an unlikely turn of events, James found himself forming some kind of kinship with these strange and slightly twisted and broken beings he met at a meeting that he never wanted to go to because of sad tragic death that almost killed him. James could never be James again but he was alive. He didn’t feel quite as dead as he did before.


	2. Chapter 2

Flint awoke in the morning even before the alarm on his clock went off, like he did every other morning and trudged into the bathroom. He looked up at the messy unimpressed face that stared back at him from above the sink, and without fail his eyes would fall upon the now empty space on his chest where the name ‘Thomas Hamilton’ used to be.

Even after 10 years, he still wasn’t used to not seeing it there. Quickly, he tore his eyes away from his reflection and moved to the shower, prepared start another day. 

Everyday for the past 8 years, Flint was the first to arrive at the Black Sails pub. He knew that he didn’t have to be in so early but ever since opening the pub he had found refuge in working there. It kept him sane and away from the brink of depression. Now it was mostly habit. 

Neither of his business partners had anything to say about it. There was probably the one time during a Christmas party, a year after opening when someone (it was probably Rackham) mentioned he was over-worked and it was never mentioned again. 

Flint was half-way through the accounts and a solid two hours into his ‘regular’ work time when he heard a hesitant knock against the frame of the office door. Flint always kept the office door ajar when he was in alone in the mornings. It helped to let him know if there were any odd or suspicious sounds going on out front. 

He looked up from his papers to find a young dark haired youth at the doorway. He had bohemian air about him and looked like one of those people that frequented ‘hipster’ cafes that boasted about ‘individuality’ and all that shit. 

“Yes?” Flint asked, it was not the question that he had on the tip of his tongue but it was far more appropriate than ‘who are you and what are you doing in my premises, we’re not opened yet can’t you read the sign’. The young man blinked as if suddenly waking from a dream, and somehow that annoyed Flint just a little.

“I’ve come for the bartender job,” he replied, sounding painfully young and unsure of himself. A look of surprise and mild horror flashed across the young man’s face. Flint wouldn't have caught it if he wasn’t so good at reading people. 

Surprise and horror at what? At the way his words sounded to his own ears? Did this boy enjoy much more confidence that what he was experiencing now, completely out of his depth? 

“You’ll need better social skills for that,” Flint said. It was the truth but the look that graced the younger man’s face made him feel oddly cruel for saying it.

“I’m usually much better than this,” he said, flashing him an easy smile. He looked to be one of those people that smiled a lot and those smiles often got him his way. 

“Have a seat,” Flint said, the younger man’s face broke out into a genuine grin that was bright and hopeful. And Flint couldn’t help but notice that he was quite beautiful with his dark curls and sapphire blue eyes. Hell, even a blind man would have probably noticed. 

“Ahem,” Flint found himself having to clear his throat as a means to remind himself that he had yet to evaluate the rest of this man’s qualifications. 

The man slid a few stapled papers across the table, probably his CV but Flint paid it little attention. Instead he turned on what Rackham called his thousand watt glare to the man before him. “You are?” he began. 

The man beamed, “John Silver.”

Flint felt the air suddenly sucked out of his lungs, the skin above his heart itched as if to remind him of a name written onto his skin that he had long ignored. Long deemed insignificant or an impossibility. 

“I’m --,” he said after a moment.

“James ‘Flint’ McGraw! I know, I read that article they ran about your pub,” Silver replied with barely contained enthusiasm.

He had read about him, saw his name and tracked him down to his pub. It made Flint chest ache in a strange way. This young man had expected something, but Flint was pretty sure that whatever he had been expecting Flint wouldn’t be able to give it to him. He just didn’t know it yet and Flint would just have to tell him straight. Best be fast and ruthless about it. 

“Mr Silver,” he began and then he paused, it was much harder to find the right words than he had anticipated. 

There was a shift in the young man’s fine features. Nothing changed outwardly on his face but there was a sudden sense of everything being more closed off, cautious. 

“It’s alright, I understand,” he said, there was disappointment in his voice, barely held back, “But I’m serious about the job though.”

Perceptive, very perceptive and adaptable, good traits for a bartender to have. Flint found himself already picturing how well the man would work with Billy and Max. After all, he came all this way, the least he could was treat his job request seriously.

“Ever tended a bar? And university parties don’t count,” Flint said.

“Bar tended enough to know my way around. And never been to uni,” Silver replied, an air of ease now setting around him as he relaxed his shoulders. 

“How old are you?”

“Old enough to drink,”

“Mr Silver, answer the question,”

“21,” Silver replied without missing a beat, Flint blinked. “Yes, that would mean that I was 1 years old when my name scrawled itself onto some stranger’s chest,” he said smugly. 

Determined to not be phased, Flint said, “Come in for a test run at 11, that’s an hour for you to grab a late breakfast or an early lunch whatever you consider it. And don’t be late.”

“If you grab brunch with me, you can make sure I’m not late,” Silver said teasingly. 

Flint scoffed, “I’m not your keeper, I will see you at 11 and no later.”

“Yes, sir,” the younger man replied grinning as he rose from his chair. Flint glared at him as he watch him go, part of him wondering what was he doing and why was he doing this to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

“Where do you find them? First Billy, now this?” Rackham said as they watched Silver charm the ladies and men into buying more drinks from their little corner in the pub. “No seriously, are you growing them somewhere and harvesting them?” 

Flint snorted, as if it were that simple. No complex relation and shit. Billy came highly recommended by their cook, Gates and Gates he knew that man since forever. And Randall, he knew from a time when he was in a dark place. The old man may not look it but he was bloody good at cleaning up and chasing away too drunk customers during closing time.

“We have to have him,” Rackham continued, clearly having fallen under Silver’s spell. “I mean, we cannot _not_ have him.”

“His mixing skills are mediocre at best,” Flint said, why were these these words coming out of his mouth. His brain knew and recognised Silver as an asset. As if knowing that he was being spoken about, the younger man cast him a glance from across the room, a glance that lingered and burned.

“Fuck the skills, the women love him! Hell, the men love him,” his companion retorted, and as if on cue Sliver turn his eyes away from Flint to play his charms on an unsuspecting customer. 

“Hmm,” Flint said. Seriously, why was he acting this way asked small voice that sounded a lot like Miranda asked. “I’ll think about it.”

Rackham gaped at him, “No, as your business partner, I invoke my right to hire this man.” 

“Alright, _you_ can tell him that he's hired then,” Flint replied, it earned him an odd look from his companion.

“Ok, sure I can do that,” he said as he eyed him suspiciously. There was a long moment of silence between them as Flint watched Silver work as he nursed a pint. 

“You’re not fucking him are you?” Rackham asked suddenly, Flint choked on his beer than turned his infamous glare onto the man beside him. “Just asking,” the man said, hands in the air in the general show of ‘I mean you no harm, please don’t hurt me.’

By closing time, Billy was firmly walking a particularly drunk and stubborn customer out, Rackham practically sprinted across the floor to shake Silver’s hand as he welcomed him aboard. 

Silver’s eyes met Flint’s for the barest of moments over Rackham’s shoulder, before darting away in… disappointment? Whatever it was, it made Flint feel as if he had just done something wrong. He ignored the feeling.

“Your contract will be drawn out tomorrow,” he said from his seat on one the nearby stools.

After a moment’s silence he asked, “Should I really come back tomorrow?”

Flint’s eyes narrow into a hard gaze. “Yes,” he replied, slightly annoyed at this childishness. Didn't he just happily shake on it with Rackham just a moment ago?

“But why should I?” Silver asked, now he was simply flaunting his rebellion, having no shame for it. “I’m not desperately in need of money.”

“Well if you put it that way, you don't have to come in then,” Flint snapped, losing his patience.

“Now just wait hold it right there!” Rackham cut in, clearly outrage at the turn of events.

“Maybe I won't come in,” Silver replied, quick as he pleased as if he were stating the time and not turning down what could be an opportunity.

“Then don't,” Flint shot back, as if he cared if this man work for them or not. He wasn't allow something as silly as a name on his chest to cloud his judgement.

“He doesn't mean that,” Rackham interrupted, but he might as well be the sound of glass that Randall was sweeping from the floor.

“Maybe I won't want to give you the satisfaction of not coming in,” the younger man retorted cockily, not an ounce of anger on his person though the same couldn't be said about Flint.

“Then FUCKING COME IN!” Flint growled, he could feel his heartbeat raising in frustration.

“What? You’ve lost me,” Rackham said, sounding slightly defeated and more than a little confused.

Silver smirked. “Hmm,” he said, sounding smug. “I guess we’ll just have to see how I feel about it tomorrow,” he said and with that he left.

As the door shut behind him. No one said anything for awhile and Randall was still sweeping the glass off the the pub floor.

“Well,damn,” Rackham said, breaking the silence. Flint shot him a death glare, daring him to say anymore about had had just transpired. Rackham, smart and eager to live quickly turned away.

“That better not be the same damn glass you’ve been sweeping all night!” Rackham groused, attention quickly latching on to the old man like a lifeline.

Good, though Flint, now he need more drink to forget about the conversation he had just had and to save his own sanity. He was fairly sure Silver would come back tomorrow… Fairly, sort of--50ish sure. He needed that drink.

******

James Flint read and reread the page in front of him, it was the fifth time he was reading the one paragraph on the partnership proposal that Charles’s godfather had sent him. 

In the deep depths of his gut, Flint knew that partnering up with Blackbeard would be less than ideal but at the moment, based on the proposal alone, he was having a hard time pinning down the facts of it. 

He felt restless and more than a little irritable. Every little sound around him sounded obnoxiously loud in the quiet hours before opening time. The thinking of you he clock on the wall, the buzz of his office computer, even the shuffling of Randal’s feet outside were grating on his nerves.

It was an hour nearer to opening time, the clock’s seemingly loud tick told him. Not a second later the sound of the front door opening was heard, followed by the low thumping of heavy footsteps. Billy was in, right on time as usual.

45 minutes till opening time, the digital clock at the corner of his computer screen read. Flint begin to tap his finger against his desk, an action that he didn’t quite notice himself doing. 

From the corner of his eye, he spied Rackham peering conspicuously through the ajar doorway. Flint ignored him and tried to look for something else to busy himself with since reading was out of the option. 

He spent a good few minutes organising his office, at least that gave him an excuse to move. From the corner of his eye, he saw Billy looking in with a face of slight confusion and concern. Flint rolled his eyes. 

“What's up with the captain?” Randall's rough voice could be heard asking. The old man had somehow taken to calling him ‘captain’ ever since he had entered his employment. Flint had once asked him to stop but the man only replied with a bewilderingly cryptic sounding, ‘Of course, captain.’and Flint never broached the subject again.

“Not sure, but if you ask me it probably has got to do with the new fellow Silver,” Rackham replied. Flint paused in what he was doing. He felt his left eye twitch.

“Really? That seems unlike him. They’ve only just met,” Billy’s fainter and more discreet voice said in disbelieve.

“If you saw the way they were eye fucking one another last night, you’d be a believer,” Rackham said, voice lewd and pompous.

That was it, Flint though as he stormed out of the back room like a violent hurricane. The three men turned to look at him with something close to fear in their eyes, the one of them much more fearful than the others. Flint mercifully didn't spare the backwards glance as he crossed the bar floor.

“I’m going out before I break something or someone,” he announced angrily. He gripped the door handle painfully tight and yanked it opened with much more forced than was necessary.

“Ooff!” Cried a familiar voice as a solid slight body collided into his.

Flint looked down at the mop of black hair, he felt his cheeks heat up as blue eyes looked up through the dark fringes that had fallen in front of his face.

“Mr McGraw!” He greeted with a stupid grin, seemingly delighted.

“Mr Silver, you are _late_ ” Flint growled, all the annoyance he felt earlier channeling into anger.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he replied, his eyes wide and guilty. He looked so sorry that Flint almost felt bad about being so harsh, almost. “I swear I have a very very valid reason! It just that I-well I don't -I mean I can't tell you,” the boy said, words tripping in and over themselves in a sad attempt at an explanation.

Flint frowned. It was so unlike the Silver he had seen the night before that Flint begin to feel a little sympathetic towards the younger man. 

“You need a room?” Rackham remarked from over his shoulder. 

Only then did Flint realised that he had his arms full of a his new bartender. Silver blushed and grinned mischievously. 

“Sorry, sir,” Silver said, an apology phrased like a question.

“Get inside,” Flint ordered, his arms oddly reluctant in letting the younger man go. Flint would later reasoned that Silver was a grown man perfectly capable of getting up himself and he didn't want to simply drop the other man so rudely.

“Yes, sir,” Silver replied as he pushed himself up from Flint’s arms. He had a small smile on his lips as he made his way pass Flint and into the bar. 

Flint’s eyes reluctantly followed his movement. Rackham cleared his throat. “So,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Are you still going out?” 

Flint gritted his teeth and glared, daring him to say another word.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew.... so er obviously this fic has been massively delayed BUT I've written quite a bit of it so...yay! Hope you guys like it. This is me indulging myself.

Silver spent the better start of the night studiously avoiding the questioning glances of both Rackham and Randall while searching the crowd for any glimpses of flaming red hair. In between all that he had to serve, make chatter and tried to not look too distracted while he was doing it.

“You new?” asked a voice, Sliver tore his eyes away from his quest to look at the man in front of him. He was a blonde chap with an extremely edgy hair cut boosted shaved sides and a long braid down the back. 

Silver wasn’t so blinded by his infatuation with Flint that he could not admire the beauty of a well groomed beard on a handsome face. But he knew much about men like him, men with roguish smiles that usually got them what they wanted.

“I think you know the answer to that one,” Sliver said, smirking playfully in return as he moved to prepare yet another pinkish cocktail for the night. 

Silver felt an intense gaze glide across his form, it send a slight shiver down his spine despite himself. 

“Come back to my place,” the man said, Sliver very nearly fumbled with his cocktail shaker but recovered quickly enough that he was sure that most people hadn’t actually noticed that that had happened. On the other end of the bar, he caught Billy giving him a narrowed eyed look.

“You’ll wait till my hours are over?” Silver asked in disbelief. A man like this could anyone he wanted in this pub no extra effort required. 

Those intense eyes were on him again, Silver thought that the intensity in those blue eyes of this stranger almost rivaled Flint’s, though Flint's shade of green was something he much preferred.

“I have time to kill,” the man replied with a casualness that for some reason unnerved Silver just a little bit. 

Silver smiled, he was about to tell him that he was very flattered but he couldn’t when he heard a loud slamming of the pub’s front door. It made him jump and he turned to look at the door now firmly shut, he didn’t even know that doors like that could slam. Confused and slightly anxious, he turned to look at Billy who in turn gave him a angry glare. 

He turned back to the man before him, suddenly at a lost for words. He must have appeared to be quite helpless as the man gave him a sympathetic look. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you were taken,” the stranger said, not sounding all that sorry at all as he took his beer and move away from the bar. Silver sighed, if only he were really taken.

**** 

Flint found himself breathing heavily as he stomped about his apartment, his restlessness reaching new heights as he seemed destined to wear down a strip in his rug. 

There was an irrational need in him to break something. Impulsively he picked up a china walrus that Rackham and Bonny had given him for his birthday. He lift his arm in a motion to throw the thing against the wall of his flat but a small voice the sounded a little like Miranda and the book on anger management reminded him to consider the consequence of his actions. 

Drawing in deep breaths, he lowered his arm and put down the harmless walrus to pick up his phone instead. “Hello, I’m sorry. I know it’s late but I need to talk to you.”

Miranda appeared at his door, wrapped in a shawl and looking far too pleased for Flint’s liking. Ever since Thomas’s passing, Miranda was the only constant in Flint’s life that made any sense. He even lived with her for a brief period during what Miranda called the ‘dark ages’.

Thus, Flint supposed that he shouldn't be too surprised that she dropped whatever she had been doing to ride halfway across town to see him.

“James!” she cried as she threw her arms around him to wrap him in a warm hug that melted the tension that he had. “James! Oh, James!” she kept saying happily.

“Miranda,” he said trying to find the right words to dissuade his friend of any ideas that had taken hold of her mind during her ride to his place. 

“James, this is wonderful news!” Miranda said as she swept into his flat in a manner that reminded Flint of the fairy godmother in Cinderella. 

“You needn't have to come out all this way,” Flint said as he took her coat and shawl from her. 

“It's not a problem, the only thing of any interest on the telly was Crossbones. Besides, your story sound far more enticing,” she said as she took her customary place on the armchair by the bookshelf. 

“Tea?” Flint offered, he was already making his way to the open kitchen even before she replied.

“Yes, please. James, do you know what this means?” she asked, lifting a quizzical brow as he looked up from the kettle he was boiling. That seemed to be the wrong respond. Miranda looked back at him slightly annoyed. “Don’t you think that all those feelings that you have mean something?” she asked in her ‘you are being purposely obtuse’ voice. 

Flint sighed. Images of the younger man making eyes with a complete stranger flashed across his mind’s eye. It made him distinctly uncomfortable and more than a little annoyed. 

“I am not looking for anyone,” he replied simply, anyone that could replace Thomas he supplied silently to himself.

Miranda opened her mouth to say something about that, probably something about Silver’s name on his chest and how science had already proven that soul marks always ended up together on way or another. He knew what she was about to say so he wasn’t about to give her the chance. 

“Which is why I need you to help me sort out these irrational ‘feelings’,” he added quickly. Miranda gave him an unimpressed look.

“Well, that’s simple. Those feelings are what people call lust and jealousy,” she replied, never one to mince her words. Out of all the people Flint had known in his life, Miranda was one of the few who dared to stand up to him when ever she felt the need arise. 

Flint felt a slight sense of guilt wash over him.

“You’re living breathing person, James. You’re allowed to have feelings,” Miranda said as she made her way towards the kitchen to turn off the kettle that Flint had somewhat forgot. “Thomas would want you to be happy too,” she added gently. 

Flint looked up at her. It hurt less and less as the years passed but didn’t mean that it stopped hurting and in some twisted way he felt bad each time he realised that he felt the pain a little less.

“I-,” he said because really he didn’t know what to say. Silver was so different from Thomas and he barely knewthe younger man. 

Miranda, patted his arm gently. “It’s alright, James. We have the whole night for me to change your mind,” she said confidently as she poured the hot water over their tea bags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stranger in the pub was none other than a certain blond Northman from Vikings if you hadn't suspected already ;)


	5. Chapter 5

“Twenty-one isn’t all that young!” she had insisted. “Just talk to him, James.” 

It was past midnight when he chose to usher her home after they reached a stalemate in their conversation with Miranda sighing in frustration.

He was standing with her by the sidewalk, waving down a taxi for her when she tugged at his arm.

“James, I do believe that you have company,” she said, her eyes gazing towards their left. 

Looking down the street he saw Silver standing seemingly frozen in place under the lamp light. There was a strangely blank look on his face that was so unlike him, even so he looked beautiful and almost other worldly under the illumination of the warm lamp light. 

After a brief moment he blinked and moved to turn away but Miranda wasn’t having it, she released her hold on Flint’s arm and waved animatedly at Silver’s direction.

“Mr Silver please!” she said, her voice ringing loud and clear. Silver paused and bit his lip as he looked over his shoulder back at them unsure.

“James, my friend,” she said, jogging slightly forward, stressing on the word ‘friend’ with so much emphasis that if they were in a comic strip and the word would be in full capslock. “He has something to say to you,” she explained as she gestured back at Flint in something close to desperation. 

“Well I-” Silver replied hesitantly, his voice sounding small. 

“Sorry, too far. Can’t hear!” Miranda cried, gesturing to her ears again in an overly animated fashion. Flint felt himself blush on her behalf as he looked down at his shoes. 

When he looked back up, Silver was a good several feet away from him. He looked at him, they looked at each other. Both shuffling their feet like young school children, there was a strange anticipation in the air that made them both antsy and unsure. 

Behind Silver, Miranda quietly gave him a quick wave before she slid into her taxi. All at once, Flint felt oddly unprepared and helpless. They looked at each other expectantly.

“Ahem,” Flint coughed as a way to buy time, “Would you like to come up?” he asked, his voice sounding embarrassingly high and strained to his own ears. 

Silver looked up at him surprised. “Really?” he asked. There was not mocking tone in his voice this time, it was an honest and vulnerable question. 

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” Flint replied. Somehow it comforted him to know that Silver felt as awkward as he did.

They climbed the stairs up to his flat in silence for a while, till Flint’s traitorous mouth decided to speak his mind. 

“What happened to that friend of yours?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity. It would appear that the talk with Miranda had worn down his walls and with it much of his common sense. Inwardly, he cursed himself for asking it.

Silver’s steps slowed a bit as if he were considering his next words very carefully and he probably was. It wasn’t as if Flint left the scene in a particularly good display of graciousness. Part of him felt slightly ashamed about his behaviour, it wasn’t as if he owned the boy in any real sense. 

After a moment of pondering her replied. “He saw that I was already taken,” he said in such a simple and matter of fact way that it stunned Flint a bit. 

He would have falter in his steps if he hadn’t been so quick and used to burying up his emotions and emotional reactions. All the training from anger management had some benefits.

They didn’t speak after that till they reached Flint’s door. He opened it, stepped in and hung his black coat on the rack. When he turned, he saw the Silver was still standing at the door way. His face carefully blank again, giving away nothing but the set of his shoulders betrayed just how tense he was. 

“Come in,” Flint said, and it was as if a spell had been broken. The younger man looked him in the eye for the very first time since they had met each other out in the street. Flint still couldn’t read what were in them but could tell that this small gesture had done something to the young man.

That kind of power, it made his guts knot together in a way that he didn’t want to look to hard at. 

Flint closed the door and turned to face the younger man. They both stood at the small space in front of the door. Silver still with his coat on, hands in his pockets looking as if he were physically shielding himself away from Flint. 

“I can’t and I won’t promise you anything,” Flint said. It sounded harsher than he had expected. He almost winced at his own words, Silver appeared unfazed. He simply stared back at him.

“I-I need time,” Flint added, his voice cracking slightly as if it weren’t used to sounding something other than angry and stern but it made Silver smile a little, not one of his teasing or cocky smiles, but a smile that was warm and real. It made Flint’s throat tighten up in an oddly familiar way. “As I said, I can’t-” Flint fought to remind the younger man.

“I know,” Silver replied gently, Then he leaned forward and quite suddenly he found soft warm lips against his, and then they were gone. 

“Thank you, Flint,” he said, and he was walking past him, their shoulders brushed and the door clicked closed behind him. 

Flint stood in the space in front of his door, stunned.


	6. Chapter 6

In some love stories, one action taken by one party can change everything dramatically. Like the one kiss that wakes up the sleeping soul mate, but this was not one of those stories.

The next day continued as if the conversation had never happened. Outwardly at least nothing seemed to have changed but on the inside, Silver felt as if a great weight was lifted off his chest and he could breathe a little easier.

The one thing that did bother him though was Billy. 

Billy or Billy Bones as the staff called him was watching him like a hawk and he wasn’t subtle about it either. He watched Silver as he helped load the stock, he watched him as he cleaned the bar and he watched him as he served the drinks. If it hadn’t been for the way Flint seemed to meet his eyes a lot easier these days, he would have snapped a long time ago.

But enough was enough, sometime during the mid of the week, Silver approached Billy in the friendliest most ‘I come in peace’ manner that he could. 

“Hello, Billy,” he said warmly, Billy looked up from where he was hunched over the barrels and boxes, taking stock in their tiny store.

“Yes?” Billy replied, civil enough but he also begin to pull himself into full height which made Silver gulp. Billy was tall, broad, and full of muscle. He had a face that was open and easy to read, which Silver was grateful for because at the moment he looked cautious and not dangerous. 

“I would like to say that I want to be a friend,” he said smoothly. Billy eyed him critically, like he could sum up the entirety of his character from this once over alone.

“You seem alright,” he admitted slowly, and Silver smiled winningly which only made Billy glared at him hard. Silver’s smile faltered.

“You seem alright but I’m not worried about me,” he continued then paused, eyes darting to somewhere beyond his shoulder.

Silver turned to the direction that the tall man was looking at and saw Flint through the gap of the boxes. Silver turned back to Billy, mouth gaping, aghast at the implication. 

“I know the effects you have on him. Flint may look tough but he has feelings,” Billy said earnestly. From someone else it might sound mocking but Billy made it sound as if he were protecting the virtue of blushing maiden. 

Silver frowned at the biasness of the situation.

“Of course he has feelings! Well so do I!” Silver said, fighting to keep his voice level. He could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks despite himself, whether it was from embarrassment or anger he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that his heart was beating fast.

Billy seemed taken aback. He blinked, then looked down for a moment seemingly ashamed of himself. 

“Look, I get that you’re looking out for him and I’m glad that he has such good friends but I’d never hurt him,” Silver said, practically imploring to this man before him. The truth was he was too new to have any real friends here and more often than not he found himself quite alone.

Billy ran a hand through his hair wearily. 

“Sorry, Silver,” he said and he meant it. “Flint hasn’t had the best luck.”

Silver blinked several times as he took this in. Hhe had felt that that might be the case but the here a source so close to Flint say it piqued his curiosity. 

“Such as?” Silver asked hopefully, but he wasn’t holding his breath for it.

Billy frowned, then smacked his arm lightly as he said, “No chance, not my story to tell.” 

He sounded a little sorry about that and Silver didn’t push, but at least now he had some clue to start with. 

*****

“You want him, you go get him,” Vane said as he sipped a sample of their newest whiskey from his seat opposite Flint in their office. 

Flint raised amused eyebrows at his remarked. “Yes, because that worked so well for you before.”

Vane glared at him. “I’m trying to make conversation,” he snarled.

‘Make conversation’, those words fell so oddly out of place from the long haired man’s mouth that Flint was sure a certain someone had convinced him to say them and had been persuasive enough that Vane felt compelled to follow them through.

Flint gave his companion a knowing half smile and Vane rolled his eyes.

“Billy has a point. After the years we’ve known each other you’d think we’d be friends,” Flint mused.

Vane’s eyes widened. “Frankly, I can’t remember the last time we had a proper chat which didn’t end with you shouting.” He smirked. “Billy told me about your crush, but I couldn't quite believe him. I should buy this man of yours a drink.” his companion continued, he studied him as if he could see changes upon him physically. 

Flint leaned back in his chair away from Vane’s searching gaze. With a scowl, he turned his attention to the computer in front of him for somewhere to look at. 

“I never thought there would be a day where I’d say this, but Charles, I think you’re over analysing this,” Flint replied as he opened his email, because he had work to do.

Vane snorted, he downed the rest of his whiskey in one shot. 

“Bullshit,” he said, unperturbed as he glass landed heavily on the table. “You, who have a near heart of stone, unmoved and un-attracted to anyone for years,” Vane continued in a tone that was almost accusing.

“And you know this because?” Flint asked, his good mood quickly wearing out. Vane tend to do that to him.

“Eleanor,” Vane replied as if a person such as Eleanor Guthrie could be posed as evidence exhibit A.

“Doesn’t she hate you now?” Flint shot back, eyes never leaving his computer screen.

“Buried that hatchet long ago,” Vane smirked. He knew Flint long enough to know the game and he wasn’t about allow himself to be side tracked.

“But she still hates you,” Flint said, finally meeting Vane’s gaze challengingly.

“When I want what I want, nothing and no one stands in my way,” Vane said as relaxed into his seat like a proud lion. 

Flint raised a brow at the remark, he remembered it happening a little differently. Or maybe he was just on a separate side of the story. 

“As pleasant as our conversation is, just why are you here?” Flint asked because he could only take so much of Vane’s enigmatic presence. 

“Can’t I visit my own establishment?” Vane asked folding his arms behind his head. 

Flint narrowed his eyes, it was their as in his, Vane’s and Rackham’s but never in all their years had Vane shown any interest in running the pub. In fact, Flint was fairly certain that Vane was more invested in some other sort of business his godfather ran.

At that moment Silver passed the doorway and Vane turned to eye the younger man in avid interest. Billy followed behind, as the tall man passed the office he looked in pointedly and shot Vane a warning glare.

Vane smiled back good naturedly which still made Flint uncomfortable in all kinds of ways. Billy merely rolled his eyes and walked on by.

“Good taste, Flint, but isn’t he a little young?” Vane asked. 

Flint gritted his teeth and was about to say something nasty in turn when Billy’s voice cut loudly through the air.

“Vane, don’t you have somewhere to be?” he said loudly with bits of frustration seeping into his voice. 

Vane stood up from his seat and leisurely strolled out of the office towards the door. 

“If you all hate me that much, I’m going,” he announced, Flint saw his gaze settle somewhere at the far right of the bar. 

There was a muttering from the corner of the bar and Vane laughed, and Flint felt weird again. It was almost a relief when he finally left.


	7. Chapter 7

Silver watched the interaction between Billy and the long haired man that had appeared in their establishment seemingly with the sole intent of antagonizing Flint. He didn’t like the calculating way in which the man looked at him. He would have expected him to at least have the decency to be subtle about it but no…

Billy had called the man Charles and the two men appeared to have a relationship that was… odd to say the least. Silver had watched Billy more or less tell the long haired man to leave. ‘Charles’ didn’t look like the kind of man that listened to anyone, but he seemed to listen to Billy.

“So, who was that?” Silver asked as he wiped glasses with Billy waiting for the first of their patrons to trickle in. 

“That was Charles Vane. He, Rackham and Flint started the place together,” Billy explained. 

Silver studied the side of Billy’s face, his youthful face, honest eyes and close cropped hair. Billy would have looked more at home at a farm; he had the appearance of being corn bred and wholesome. In short, Vane and Billy didn’t look like they ran in the same circle. 

He wanted to ask more, a lot more but the crowd was starting to trickle in and Billy was a work means work type of fellow. Sadly, Silver let the conversation end as he focused all his efforts into giving the best service he could. After all, it was one of those rare occasion where Flint emerged from the cocoon of his office to take his spot in the seat furthest in the pub.

On one end of the pub, a makeshift stage had been set up for the night. He wasn’t sure what band would be playing but Rackham must be the brains behind that particular idea. The man was fussing around the stage and equipment since he came in earlier. 

As the pub really began to get crazy, Silver noticed a familiar face in the crowd. It was the enigmatic stranger from a few nights before. He seemed to remember Silver too as he flashed him a quick wink. 

Silver smiled back warmly. Though his smile slid off his face instantly when the handsome stranger walked on, revealing a glaring Flint on the other end of the pub.

The stranger’s entrance was followed a few others of his kin. Another long haired and heavily bearded man who was almost as tall as Billy and a whole lot broader and beefier. A man with a funny haircut with heavy eyeliner game and a blond woman looked just as tough as all the men she was with.

The second thing that Silver noticed was the cases in their hands. Oh, they were the band. 

“Handsome and talented,” Silver said to himself which earned him a narrowed eyed look from Billy . “What? A man can appreciate,” he replied a little defensively. 

As if Billy didn’t admire other people… He did, didn’t he?

“Good evening everyone, I’m Ragnar Lothbrok and we are-,” he paused to look back at his band.

“THE VIKINGS!” they roared together. It sounded so much like a battle cry that dropped to a dead silence and turned to look at them. In the far end of the pub, Silver saw Flint cast Rackham a look that said so many things among them were ‘What the hell is this?’ and ‘Don’t make me regret this.’ 

There was a brief moment of strange silence, then Ragnar leaned forward to the mic and said, “Enjoy.”

Then the music started, a curious mix of alternative rock, jazz and folk music. It was the kind of music that sounded new but also had elements of something really rustic about it.

Ragnar surprisingly played a trumpet, an odd choice but it worked well with the rest of the ensemble. The man with the guyliner was on some sort of keyboard mixer thingy. The woman was their lead guitarist and Mr Beefy was on the drums.

There were good but somehow, Silver felt that something was lacking. Maybe it was the vocals, no one was particularly strong in that department it would seem. Shame. They were good but they could be great.

Overall, it was one of the better nights that he had at the pub. Plus, he finally knew ‘Handsome Stranger’s’ name.

*****

“You can’t turn him down every step of the way,” Rackham said when they went through the pub’s accounts together. “Then throw a fit and sulk each time he so much as glance at a remotely attractive person.” Flint grunted as he balanced sums that seem to go nowhere. “I mean, in the wise words of Beyonce, if you like it, put a ring on it. Are you listening?”

If only the human ears were designed to shut at will. Unfortunately, Rackham had a point but it wasn’t as if Flint was particularly good at controlling his emotions like petty jealousy. 

“You should try doing something, like going out, as friends of course and getting to know Silver better. You still know how to do that don’t you?” Rackham asked.

Flint sighed, but said nothing in reply because he didn’t know what to say. The truth was Rackham was mostly right, Flint hadn't been on anything resembling a date since Thomas and Flint still winced inwardly when he thought about his late husband.

What if he was so bad at dating that he’d ruin whatever tentative thing that they had formed? Or worst, knowing his luck, he might just traumatise Silver forever.

“Hello, earth to Flint?” Rackham said waving a hand exaggeratedly in front of his face. 

Flint smacked the skinny hand away in annoyance. 

“Hey, I get it, it’s daunting to date again after so long. But trust me, it isn’t so different now as it was then,” Rackham supplied helpfully.

“And how do you know? Are you twenty-one?” Flint replied snidely. Rackham probably didn’t deserve that but maybe if he was rude enough the fellow would finally leave him be. 

“No,” the skinnier man replied. “But if Max is anything to go by, I say it’s much the same.”

Of course, Max. Bonny’s young soulmate. Bonny like Flint had two soul marks on her chest, but unlike Flint both her soulmates were alive. Flint briefly wondered if Silver would have entered an arrangement like Rackham’s, Bonny’s and Max’s had Thomas been alive.

But he quickly shook those thoughts out of his mind. It did him no good to dwell on the what ifs. 

There was the sound of the door opening and Silver passed by his doorway. Rackham shot Flint a look, but when Flint didn’t move to get up, Rackham sighed and shook his head. The look that the skinnier man gave him told him that he was deeply disappointed in Flint.

Flint gritted his teeth. Because he was just that prideful, he got up and marched out towards the bar where Silver was arranging the glassware.

“We’re going out tonight,” he announced stiffly. 

Silver looked at him stunned and Flint felt his cheeks and ears turning red as he stood there awaiting a response from the younger man. 

“But, wouldn’t it be too late by the time we finish today?” Silver asked confused. From the corner of his eye Flint could see Rackham beam at him encouragingly from the office doorway.

Taking a deep breath, he centered himself and said, “Well, Sunday then? We finish early on Sundays.”  
Silver grinned so bright that it was almost blinding. “Yes!” he said, looking like an overeager puppy and not for the first time Flint was struck by how young he was. “Where do we go?”

“Anywhere you want to go,” Flint answered easily. He felt strangely indulgent towards the younger man.

Silver thought for a moment then frowned. “I’ll get back to you on that on Sunday, if that’s alright with you,” he said, sounding just slightly hesitant as if he might be punished for his indecisiveness.

It made Flint feel oddly hurt about it, but he recovered quickly. “Of course,” he said and with that he retreated, as calmly as he could, back into his office while steadily ignoring the skinny man that was grinning madly by the door.


	8. Chapter 8

Silver was not up to his usual game, judging by the polite but bare conversations from the patrons. He hadn't gotten an order wrong yet but he hated that he couldn't concentrate on the flow of conversation as usual but at the moment he had a pinball machine for a gut and the ball wasn’t slowing down anytime soon. 

His only consolation was that Flint looked almost as nervous as he was. He had greeted Silver stiffly then disappeared into the kitchen. It was nice to know that Flint liked Silver enough to want to go on a date with him and was worried he might back out. Contrary to what Flint thought, he wasn’t that hard to read despite the crusty exterior.

He no chance to speak to Flint about the details of their date the entire week. And it was a date. Last time Silver checked, that was what ‘going out’ entailed. 

It should have been easy to pick a place, but with Flint, Silver’s urge to please and impress was so strong it was ruining his usual smooth demeanor towards dating. And he had the distinct notion that he needed to be careful with Flint. 

The man clearly had issues. The first date would have to open new doors, not tug at Flint’s deep well of cynicism. He wasn’t so full of himself to think that Flint’s reluctance was borne out of the long effort of trying and failing to find his soulmate.If Flint really wanted to, he could have found Silver with a little effort. These days they had apps for everything. You could upload your profile, even a picture of your soulmark. 

Although Flint seemed more of the kind that would dismiss the whole idea as rubbish but surely he must have been enthusiastic once. Something else must have happened. You didn’t amass that sort of intensity without having some dark, tragic past. 

“Get your head together, Silver,” Billy told him in a voice that was not unkind as he passed a tray of drinks to Idelle who was watching the two bartenders in a manner that she must have thought as discreet. A stern look from Billy sent the waitress off, looking red in the face.

“Lose the top three buttons, Silver. You’re looking like an altar boy,” Vane’s gruff voice informed him as the man himself slid into a stool at the bar. 

“What are you doing here?” Billy asked. The taller man’s sounded just as surprised as Silver was. Silver was surprised enough that pinball in the pit of his stomach stopped pinging around so dramatically for a while, a welcomed distraction if an oddly timed one. 

“Why not be here? After all, I own the place,” Vane replied, his eyes boring directly into Billy’s as the man handed him a pint that he didn’t order but proceeded to drink anyway. Billy held his gaze with a slight frown, the one that he got when he was taking stock and the numbers didn’t quite add up. The moment seemed to last for a split second, before Billy was back to being Billy The Ever Efficient Bartender again. 

Silver had a distinct feeling that something was just revealed to him that he had just missed because he was so caught up in his own head to properly dissect what he had just witness. 

“Confused?” Vane asked, he sounded smug. “Good,” he said, now he was just fucking with him, the bastard. 

Silver was about to retort but was unfortunately cut off from even starting by a particularly pushy customer. Too bad, it would have been a funny remark, well funny to Silver at least.

Vane seemed to have claimed that spot at the bar as territory, he draped his elbows wide on top of the bar in a manner that reminded Silver of a poorly camouflaged lion in waiting. The muscles in his body sat stiff and the older man’s eyes zeroed on Billy’s back. 

Billy had looked up once, just once and he had rolled his eyes in a fashion so dramatic that Silver thought that Max must have thought it to him. The rest of the evening, Billy spent hard at work and focused, though the same couldn’t be said for Silver. 

Tonight of all night, Flint had decided to step out of that little hovel he called an office and help with the serving and cooking. It was distracting just how competent and sure of himself he was as he made his way around the room. Every once in awhile, Silver would be caught glancing at him and the side of Flint’s lips would quirk upwards and it would turn the pinball machine in his stomach to melted taffy. 

“Oh, fuck it. Silver,” Vane said, he pushed off his seat and proceed to flip the bar open and made his way to their side as Billy watched the other man with something that looked a little like horror upon his usually well collected features. “Get out of here, Flint! And take the boy with you!” he shouted loudly above the noise. Flint and half of their patrons’ snapped up to his direction. 

Flint’s gaze slipped from Vane to Silver, raising a ginger eyebrow. It would look ambiguous to anyone else but Silver somehow felt that Flint was asking if he was alright with leaving now. The decision was quite literally taken out of his hands as Vane took the cocktail glasses from his fingers. 

“Err… Thanks?” Silver said uncertainly. He thought he saw Billy’s jaw clenching just a little tighter. “Sorry,” he said and he was truly a little sorry but he had no doubt that Billy could hold the fort for a few more hours even without Vane there. He tried to look back at Billy encouragingly but Billy had gone back to work.

Silver had never known that one could pour out a martini with force but there it was, the taller man was looking at the glass before him as if it held all the answers to the universe. 

“Will Billy be alright?” Silver asked Flint as he pulled on his leather jacket on their way out of the establishment. 

“Billy?” Flint scoffed, “It’s Charles I’m more concerned about,” the older man added. 

Silver looked over his shoulder to find Vane trying and failing to whisper something into the taller man’s ear and Billy edging away from Vane as if the other man had something catching. “Huh,” Silver said as a soft wispy idea rolled into his mind.

“After you,” Flint said as he held the door opened for him. It sounded gruff and the older man was looking at him with a seriousness that Silver associated with strict school masters and priest. Yet, it sent whatever thought that was about to take form in his mind dispersing into the night air. 

Silver smiled back widely. He supposed he must look a little too pleased, probably a bit crazy. He had been on many dates but he couldn't shake the feeling that going on one with Flint, his fated soulmate was something truly special.


	9. Chapter 9

“Kiss him!” Max mouthed, Flint’s eyes flicked over to her exaggerated gestures from over Silver’s shoulder. She paused her piling of empty mugs and glasses on to her tray to wave exasperatedly.

“Yes, kiss him,” Rackham mouthed as well, coming to stand beside Max in a most inconvenient display of solidarity. The moustached man had the gall to make motions with his lips. They actually thought they were helpful. 

Flint glared at him hard willing the man to drop dead and in his distraction, Silver had slipped his hand into his and had yanked him wholly unprepared out of the pub.

“Where are we going?” Flint asked after allowing himself to be pulled down the street, his heart thundering against his rib cage since Silver took his hand and he couldn't find it within himself to care.

Silver stopped and turned around to face the older man, panting lightly. “Don't know, just had to get it out of my system you know,” Silver replied between breaths. Flint stared at the young man before him, eyebrows raised as he drew in deep steady lungs full of the chilly night air. Silver smirked. “Or maybe I’m just testing your stamina,” he said, brow cocked and cheeks handsomely flush from their run. 

Flint tried not to find this charming. Naturally he schooled his face into wry neutrality. “Well now that you have me, what will you do with me?” He wasn't sure if he had meant it as a tease but it certainly sounded that way upon leaving his mouth.

Silver’s lips quirked up slightly but then a small frown formed between his brows. He suddenly looked unsure, not unlike the way he did earlier in the pub.

“I-I had this place in mind, but-,’ he stopped, then shook his head as if something just occured to him and he was about to change his mind. “You know what? Nevermind that, it’s a terrible, terrible idea,” he quickly added, the forced cheer in his voice at odds with the grimace on his face the the desperate gestures of his hands. It would appear that the younger man was quite aware that he had dug himself into a hole.

“And why would that be?” Flint said, now properly intrigued. "What place is this?”

“It’s a cafe, sort of…," Silver trailed off, hesitation clear in his voice.

“Then let's go,” Flint said amiably, he was offering an olive branch of a sorts. “But if it really bothers you that much.” he added, a tactic he learnt from Miranda after having it employed on his person with devastating effectiveness. 

Silver sighed in a manner bordering on the dramatic. "You sure? You might hate it."

“I'll decide on that. Are we going to walk?”

“I have a scooter?” Silver suggested. “You’d like it,” he added reassuringly, after a look at Flint’s face. Of course Silver would own something as impractical as a scooter. He did not want to imagine sitting behind Silver, wind in his face like a scene in a sappy romance movie. No, it just wouldn’t do. Something it Flint rebelled against the idea, not when he had a perfectly good car. 

That and he was genuinely fearful for his life. “I’ll drive.” he told Silver firmly.

****  
The place Silver directed him to was a discreet corner behind a row of quiet shops that for all intent and purpose, could have passed easily for storage. There was no discernible signboard only a wooden plank with a series of symbols that Flint assumed was supposed to mean something. Apparently the hipsters of London had taken to pictographs and done away with words altogether. A number of cars parked along the road, not always legally but no one seemed to care. Flint’s old Ford now joined them.

“This isn’t some murderous cult, is it?” Flint asked, looking around for a door. “That you’ve tricked me to coming.” 

Silver laughed and squeezed past him to open a grille that led to a set of stairs which ended in a dead end of thick curtains. “Looks like a secret society, but you can find it pretty easily online,” Silver said, pushing back the curtains to reveal another door. Now Flint could hear faint bass music and for one discomfiting moment, he thought Silver had brought him to a club of some sort. 

But pass the heavy drapes was a cafe but really, there was a bar that looked to be serving alcohol alongside coffee and something purple that had a stalk of celery in it. On the counter lay packets of chips with words like ‘organic’ and ‘homegrown’. 

The floors were bare concrete. There was a gaping hole in one of the wall. Someone had put a large wooden picture frame around it, Flint personally wouldn’t call that art but then again there were all sorts these days. On one end of the room was a stage made out of wooden crates. What was it that Vane had mocked these things as again? Ah, rustic.

“It’s very…,” Flint said as Silver looked to him nervously. “Young,” he finished as he eyed the crowd.

The younger man burst out laughing, a rich and warm sound that resonated through Flint and it made him smile despite himself. 

“Don’t worry about that, you know what they say about fine wine,” Silver replied in a stage whisper as he laced their fingers together. “I better hold on to you, in case I lose you. Everyone fancies themselves a sommelier.”

Flint flushed, as he looked out at the corner of his eye, he found that Silver might actually be serious about it. He felt several pairs of eyes rake down his form. It made him feel self conscious enough that he almost hadn’t noticed the way Silver’s eyes were shifting about the room. As if the younger man was looking out for something or someone.


	10. Chapter 10

Silver’s heart hadn’t fluttered this hard since-since he saw his soul mark scrawl itself across his skin. It was like a hummingbird was beating it’s wings in his chest.

Flint wanted to know him and was willing to venture into unknown territory to do so, and Silver knew that Flint wasn’t one to make a habit of going out on a limb just for anyone. At the moment, Flint was busy trying to make out the veggie smoothie Silver had saddled him with. The red haired man sniffed the concoction skeptically before taking a tentative sip.

Assured that his companion was occupied, he leaned across the counter.

“Seen you-know-who around?” he asked, his voice pitched low.

The woman gave him a look, “You mean the fictional character?”

“Madi…” Silver begged. Silver had painfully few friends and Madi could be counted as one of those few. If she would leave him too then… well, it wouldn’t make much of a difference to Silver except to confirm the suspicions there must be something awful about his character, Silver was sure but fuck if he wasn’t trying these days.

“Ned came by, been asking bout you,” she replied, then she looked to somewhere to the left, where Flint sat. 

“Is that him?” she asked. Silver turned his attention back to Flint who was now studying the old in-house pachinko machine from across the room. 

“Yes,” Silver said, he tore his eyes away from Flint’s fine behind to scan the room again.

“Don’t worry, Silver. He won’t try anything here, if he comes at all,” she said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

“It’s not here that I’m worried about,” Silver said but she was off and there was no one to hear him out.

****

Silver was hiding something, Flint thought as he watched the reflection of the younger man and women by the counter. The pachinko machine made for a terrible mirror but beggars can’t be choosers. 

Flint pretended to fiddle with a knob as he watched Silver swivel to scan the room as if he was searching for someone, shoulders tensed. Flint frowned. He could read a lot into that but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. An ex perhaps? 

“Hello,” said someone to his right. He turned to find a young man with curly brown hair and soft brown eyes. The man’s smile turned uncertain and Flint coughed, chagrined. He schooled his glare into something hopefully, less pointed. 

“Sorry, but are you Flint?” he asked, his voice was gentle and soft, just loud enough to be heard over the music. 

“Yes,” Flint replied slowly, fighting to keep the suspicion out of his voice. 

“Ah!” the young stranger said, a bright smile graced his face. It was almost annoying how positivity seemed to radiate off him. “I’m Athelstan, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” he added as he reached out to shake his hand.

Practically on autopilot, Flint found himself returning the gesture. Flint fancied himself a good reader of people and there was a lot to be gained from a single handshake. Athelstan, it seemed was the kind that would go out of his way to put people at ease. His shake was both warm and gentle, it was short but enthusiastic as if it the act itself brought him great joy. 

“It’s great that John’s brought you here,” he said, there was happiness and pride in his voice almost like the type of voice a proud parent would use when speaking of a particularly favoured child.

Flint frowned a little, strange fellow this Athelstan. “How did you know me?”

“John talks about you a lot,” he explained, then he looked equal parts abashed and sly as he added, “Frankly he won't shut up about. You've become quite myth in our little circle. He has a lot of theories.”

Flint’s eyebrows rose, at some level, he was well aware of his own tendencies to secrecy but to hear what it evoked in Silver, he may have held things to closely to the chest.

“Really? What else does he say?” Flint asked, prodding on and daring the younger man to answer.

"My lips are sealed on that account unfortunately."

“Silver has the flare for the dramatic at times,” Flint retorted. 

The young man before him frown slightly, he looked almost disapproving. He appeared to be gathering himself to say something, it was like watching a small seemingly fluffy cloud roll itself into something darker and deeper. 

“Athelstan! You’re here!” Silver said excitedly, almost too excitedly. “And I see that you’ve met!”

“Ah, yes,” Athelstan replied, his cheeks flushing slightly as he suddenly appeared self conscious and just like that all dark clouds were dispersed. Again stood before him a ray of sunshine in almost disgusting brightness.

“Are you performing tonight?” Silver asked, he seemed eager to move onto a new subject. 

“Yes-,” Athelstan said, the young man found himself cut short by Silver who appeared to be suffering from a case of sudden extreme enthusiasm. Flint briefly wondered if Silver had a bit too much to drink too fast when we was at the bar.

“Then you better get going, eh?” the dark haired man remarked turning his friend towards the direction of the stage.

“Yes-but, John. I really need to tell you something! You know at our apartment-” Athelstan said, looking concerned and more than a little bit confused.

“You can tell me later,” Silver all but hissed at his roommate. 

The brunette sighed as he reluctantly moved for the stage area but paused to tell Silver, very sternly, to check his phone.


	11. Chapter 11

“Check your phone,” Athelstan said in the voice he usually reserved for informing Silver that they were low on toilet paper and grocery shopping needed to happen soon. That meant that was pretty damn urgent and only one thing that warranted that response from his friend at the moment.

Athelstan was preparing himself as another musician performed. The brunette kept casting Silver concerned looks, Silver in turned smiled back with a confidence that he didn't quite feel as he pulled out his phone. 

Standing behind him, Flint was looking nonchalant and disinterested to any onlookers but Silver knew better. His shoulders were set tense, his hands were in his pants pockets probably curled in fist and there was the slight wrinkle the appeared right between his ginger brows. No, Flint was most certainly far from composed.

“Anything of interest?” Flint asked, his eyes watching Athelstan take the stage with his cello. On Silver’s phone, there were several missed calls from Athelstan. He swiped through to his messages as the first note from the cello resonated through the air.

 

_Ned stopped by again. I told him you were working._

_I think he’s loitering outside our corridor._

_I think he’s a stalker._

_Ned is a stalker._

_Don’t come home tonight._

_Shit! He’s still outside!_

_Sorry. For the language._

_I can’t take it anymore, I’m going out. DO NOT COME HOME TONIGHT!_

There was an uncharacteristically sharp sound from the stage, a sign of the bow being pushed too hard. Silver’s head snapped up in surprise. He found Athelstan looking at somewhere behind him in wide eyed horror. 

As if controlled by a hive mind, the crowd turned all at once to look at the direction which Athelstan was fixated on. 

“You are one hard man to find, John Silver,” a voice said accompanied by a heavy hand to his shoulder. Silver jumped. 

As he turned to say something that would hopefully wriggle him out of this situation, he saw Flint glaring daggers at the new intruder who had inserted himself between them. He looked to Flint, silently begging for the man not to overreact. Flint’s eyes narrowed before turning back to glare at Ned.

Ned didn’t even seem to notice Flint. His fingers curled, not quite digging into Silver’s flesh but the threat was there. 

“Not hard really, just busy,” Sliver said as a low song in the major key started playing banishing the vacuum like atmosphere that had muscled into place with Ned’s arrival. It seemed that Athelstan had resumed his music, probably in hopes of pretending that everything was normal, least that anyone else acting unusual might tick off the maniac that had him in the hand.

“Busy ruining more lives?” the man asked in a strange voice.

“What?! No!” Silver replied, horrified as he felt strong fingers dig painfully into his shoulder. Silver tried hard not to wince under the added pressure.

Suddenly he felt himself being pulled by the collar. Silver jerked backwards, the breath being knocked out of him as he struggled to not trip over his own feet. Several things happened in quick succession after that. 

The music stopped, a strong hand gripped him firmly by the forearm. He was pulled sideways, effectively twisting out of Ned’s grip and slamming into a broad hard chest, accompanied by Flint’s voice growling, “He’s not going anywhere with you.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay guys!

_What are you doing, Flint? A small voice at the back of Flint’s mind hissed, Silver could be involved in drugs for all you know! This could be his drug dealer!_

True and true, but did it matter? No. This Ned fellow had rubbed him the wrong way every since he had graced them with his presence. Flint decided that stranger's aggressive manhandling of Silver was not acceptable and he had reacted even before his brain had the chance to really think it through. It was too late, he was committed now. 

The man in question, cause of all this problems, pushed against his chest and turned his big blue eyes to him. “Oh, don’t be so surprised,” Flint told the younger man, sounding as if he knew what he was doing. Hopefully that wish would become a reality. 

“And who are _you_?” Ned asked as if noticing Flint for the first time, his good eye sizing him up while milky one glistened and twitched ever so slightly under it’s scar. 

Men of lesser constitution would have wisely backed away, but years of practice with one Charles Vane meant that one built up resistance to such things. Instead, Flint shifted his hold around Silver, pushing the younger man behind him despite the latter’s indignant protests. 

“And they say chivalry is dead,” the scarred faced man remarked in amusement. “Do you know what a little rat he is?”

“I don’t but I’m sure you’re dying to enlighten me,” he said unfazed. Flint brought his weight firmly down on the balls of his feet and squared his shoulders in a way that raised some excited muttering from their onlookers. Around them, the people formed a circle that was seemingly content to watch for the moment. 

“This man destroyed my life!” the man said, his scarred face twisted in his anger into something frightful. 

“I’m sure I couldn’t have-” Silver piped from behind Flint. The red haired man shot his companion a silencing look because this was absolutely not the time for Silver to be a smartass.

The man didn’t bother answering. Flint read the beginning of violence the moment the man rocked back on his heels and he stepped out of reach, shoving Silver with him, just as the man shot forwards. Flint's right hand curled into a fist.

Then it was like a spell had been broken. The crowd around them exploded into commotion upon sensing that there was most definitely going to be biting along with all the bark. People were moving to get out of the way as some moved to hold on to either Flint or the other man. There was shoving, indignant cries and yelps of pain. 

Someone was pulling his wrist so fast and hard that it nearly gave Flint whiplash and it was as if they were spat out of a whirlpool of bodies when they emerged into the nippy night air of some back alley. 

“You alright?” Silver asked, he had somehow managed to lace their fingers together in all the mess of hauling Flint and himself out of the place.

Flint looked at the younger man before him and felt like something close to amazement. Silver seem to have weasel out of sticky situations down to an art. 

“Yes, but you aren’t going to be the minute we get out of here,” Flint warned because if he is going to have to protect Silver from getting ripped to bits by some dramatic madman, he better know why.


	13. Chapter 13

Silver crept back to his own flat as quietly as he could, his head was still hurting slightly from the impromptu interrogation session that Flint had sprung upon him. Well, sprung wasn’t quite the right word. He saw it coming the minute he decided to show Flint bits and pieces of himself. 

What he hadn’t anticipated was the intense stare that those green eyes pinned him down with, as Flint’s broader form cast shadows over him like he was caging him in from any form of escape. He never had been that scared and guilty in his life not even when his mother stumbled upon his collection of gay porn as a teen. But there was also something incredibly arousing about Flint threatening disposition as the older man squeezed and pulled as much information as he could from Silver. 

“You’re back,” said Athelstan sleepily as he sat up from their sofa in the hall. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times from over the back of the sofa. “You look really pleased,” he observed in his sleep muddled slur. 

Silver frowned as he attempted to rearrange his face, was he that easy to read? He shuddered to think so. “Yes, but not for the reasons that you think,” he replied as came around the sofa and flung his keys across their coffee table carelessly. 

Athelstan rubbed his now probably stiff neck in confusion. “What reasons?"

Silver sighed, he forgot that Athelstan had grown up so very very Christian and traditional that some “common” conclusions were beyond him. It was a good thing that SIlver was around to show him the ways of the real world. 

“Nevermind, Athelstan,” he said as he patted his housemate’s ankle affectionately. “Say, why are you out here?” 

“Oh, well. I was worried you see. So I tried to wait till you got back but I fell asleep,” the younger man explained. That made Silver feel oddly touched that someone would care about a person they only knew for a little more than a month that much. 

He smiled gently as he said, “I can take care of myself you know.”

“I know, but just because you can doesn’t me that I should stop caring,” Athelstan replied like it was that simple and again Silver felt like he had smoke in his eyes. Damn James Flint, them man was turning him into a raw bundle of nerves and emotions.


	14. Chapter 14

Flint wondered what and why was he planning to take the little shit out again after the disastrous first time. Silver was clearly bad for him, the younger man made him feel like a raw bundle of nerves and emotions. He had been a raw bundle of nerves and emotions once and it wasn’t the best time of his life, but here he was browsing at an article titled ‘10 Things You Can Do That Your Date Will Love!’.

He was ridiculous, Silver had obviously inflicted his ridiculousness onto him. Scrolling down the page, a picture at the side of the page caught his eye. Tucked into the right hand side, under trending pages was thumbnail of what looked liked a video clip of the crowd stampede from the place that Silver and him went just the night before.

‘Love Triangle Causes Panic As Men Duel For Affection’. Flint never clicked on a headline so fast in his life. It linked him to a video that started with the madman, Ned according to Silver, ranting about how the younger man had ruin his life. Indeed, paired with the headline it looked like a lovers’ quarrel. The description the went under the video was worst.

‘Last night, the local hipster hangout, Madi’s Maroons, exploded into a cornucopia of drama, vengeance and jealousy. A scene of a shakespearean level, two flames, one old and the other new, vie for the affections of a young dark haired man.’ 

Flint snorted, it seemed that what people constituted as newsworthy had truly dropped in its standards. He wasn’t too worried about what it had to say about him, no names were stated. He was however concerned about Silver and his sworn enemy. Ned would likely add it to his growing list of grievances caused by Silver. 

He scrolled down further to the comments and as expected Ned Low had replied to almost every comment with the restrain of a teenager who thought justice could be dispensed with a keyboard. The man’s comments ranged from angrily explaining to angrily defending. Then things took a bizarre turn in the comment section and Flint closed the page because enough was enough. All in good time too as he saw Rackham marching towards his door. 

“Have you heard?” his friend asked, it was posed as a question but the look on Rackham’s face clearly indicated that he had fully expected Flint to most certainly have heard. 

“You have to be more specific,” Flint replied and wondered if Rackham had watched the video too and was here to mock him about it. If it were so, Flint was more than ready.

“The Vikings, they can’t make it tonight so we’ve got no act!” Rackham cried as he ran a hand through his well gelled hair, leaving it in a state of disarray. 

Flint closed his laptop with a soft click. Yes, this was a problem. The Vikings were well loved and had developed a following that showed up every time they were playing. Flint wondered what course of action would upset the crowd the least because either way they would not be pleased. Then he saw Silver passing by his line of sight.

“Silver!” he called and watched as the younger man startle and turned towards him, his arms full of assorted cheeses. 

“Sir?” he replied, good, Flint had reminded him last night that regardless of circumstance he was ‘sir’ at work.

“Your friend, the cellist, is he any good?” he asked, the had heard the boy pull a few note but that could hardly stand as a showcase. Silver lived with the boy, and he didn’t think that SIlver would lie about his friend’s talent or lack there off. Not when he had nothing to motivate him to do so.

“Yes, very,” Silver said, frowning in confusion. 

“Does he do covers? Song request?” Flint asked as he watched Silver struggle to keep all of the cheese in his arms.

“Yes?” he replied, still confused. Flint gave him a look, because it was a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, never a ‘yes?’. Silver, quick as always quickly said, “I mean definitely, yes.”

“Is he available tonight?” he inquired to which Silver nodded. “Good, tell him to come,” he said to Silver. Then he turned to Rackham and said, “You will update our page, tell the people The Vikings have canceled but we have something better. We will be having a classically trained cellist, they can request any song they want on our page and the ones with the most likes will be played tonight.”


End file.
